Fast Food

You know the one thing I miss the most, now that I'm a parent?  The one everyday event that has fundamentally changed?  Meals.  Meals at home, not so much.  Meals out?  What a different world that must be, to sit there calmly eating your meal, discussing whether to have dessert.  I'm sure those days will return, but with an infant and a toddler, every meal out boils down to being a race.

Can we finish our meal before Simon becomes impatient and wants to get out of his high chair?  Can we squeeze in travel and eating time between Cecily's feedings?  The longer it takes to reach our destination and the longer it takes for our food to arrive, the more we tend to eat like Nintendo cutie Kirby - inhaling our food in seemingly one puff (although Kirby would probably gain a half-useful magical ability from such a thing, like getting horns if he ate a hamburger).



We attempt to finish our meal quickly, all while sticking Cecily's pacifier back in her mouth or trying to make fruitless deals with Simon on why it really would be better to eat a few more bites of chicken.  Sometimes, things go extremely well.  Cecily is asleep the entire time and Simon smiles and waves to waitresses and other patrons before calmly eating his meal.  Other times, Cecily starts to get fussy the moment we arrive and Simon spots a drawing of a tractor on the opposite wall of the restaurant and wants to ride it instead of eating our food.  There's crying, there's whimpering, and there's a lot of nervous looks between Katie and I as we take turns minding the children and stuffing entire chicken fingers in our mouths, any thoughts of stopping by the froyo place that we saw on the way in completely obliterated.

And here's the thing.  I remember when I didn't have kids.  I remember when I'd go to restaurants and there would be parents there with crying or screaming children, and I'd just think, really?  I just wanted a nice quiet lunch.  So, I feel guilty.  I feel guilty as a parent because my kids are disturbing other people's meals.  I feel guilty as past-self naive me for thinking that when I was a parent I'd either have perfect children that didn't ever make themselves heard in public (or perhaps that I would never eat out again?).  Then, like a groggy filmgoer in an IMAX theater, I close my eyes and the sensation passes.

We keep going out, of course.  It's our right to do so, and some restaurants seem to encourage it, what with their kids meals and kids eat free and high chairs and cheddar bay biscuits.  Also, because, in the end, it's fun.  It's fun to have Simon lean over and order his own meal, while our server compliments him.  It's fun to have a nice, noisy, chaotic meal out every once in a while.